What I've Become
by Ikasury
Summary: There was only one time I truly lost myself to the demon's mark... only once in this accursed Boletaria that truly stands out where the demon devoured my soul... only once in that place of 'pure' defilement... -companion piece to 'Another Deep Intake'-


**A/N:** this is a part of the same 'collection' as 'Another deep intake'...

for those that know Digital Devil Saga, they know what the Demons, Asuras, 'Children of Purgatory' are... and well, this came from the part of my desire to write something about the Sixth Saint Astraea from Demon's Souls and the character i'm using is a variation of the one used in ADI, and the concept of that character is one that can move through dimensions but still has remnants of the previous ones... this being the 'Demon Mark', their tattoo being on their bicep, and it constantly infecting them at times... and well, what better way to describe a resonance of demons?

the emotion is what i'm really going for here... i'm curious what anyone will think...

**Dis:** 'Demon's Souls' and 'Digital Devil Saga' series are both the property of the most amazing company of all things ever, ATLUS! so buy their stuff... its awesome :3 i just have my character and my concept...

Enjoy!

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><p>What I've become…<p>

Throughout my long lives there is no trait I loathe and love more than the one I inherited from the junkyard.

It is an intricate, beautiful, deadly, beastly, monstrosity of a curse. It is the Asura, Demon, child of purgatory tattoo that won't leave my left bicep. It is a scraping, clawing, devouring thing that won't leave my system, a virus from who knows what that I can't purge from my system. The demon, I don't even know its name, that I become is a blind beast of justice, ironic since it merely devours whatever it can smell out, biting, gnawing, gnashing its fangs into flesh as it devours the innocent and its enemies alike, and perhaps that is the 'justice' it serves. Like death it makes no qualms about the people, things, monsters it devours.

I have tried to tame it, to gear its festering hunger towards those that are criminals, those that have actually committed some sin beyond being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I've failed in nearly every endeavor, for no matter what, an innocent dies amongst the mounds of unlawful and criminally insane. Perhaps this is just another mere testament to the concept of probability, that even amongst the noble and just there are sinners and amongst the ruthless and cutthroats there's a saint.

Funny how I should even consider a saint when thinking of this monster…

There was a saint, I 'knew'… or 'met' whom was so devoured by her devoutness it twisted and converted her into a demon of her own when faced with the cold hard truth of there being nothing beyond the real, nothing that she was told existed, that when she reached the end, there was nothing there waiting for her, no god, no messiah, no bright and shiny afterlife, just blank emptiness in which she was to wait out the next life, IF there was going to be a next life.

Perhaps that is what broke the sixth saint, perhaps that's what caused her to go mad, I don't know, but when I met her she was a demon, one of grief and regret and things that could have been and everything being twisted by a deep colorless fog and her own sense of warped piety and justice.

IT resonated with her… I think…

I don't know what it was, but when I first saw her, the sixth saint, over the ledge of her misguided and unwanted followers, something in my soul that had been trapped in that accursed place resonated with the depth and despair and depravity of the sixth saint, her wanton and excess abandon still held back by some human righteousness and desire for stillness…

She didn't even care about the man she sent after me, even though he followed her, I think, once, there may have been a time where there was something between the two, something bright, something shiny, something loving and whole… but all I saw was a man broken, who was empty and lost and only knew how to follow that woman's commands, even if it was into the center of hell, which in all senses that is where I had found them.

The knight, I don't know if I should have pitied him, for he was resigned to follow a woman he probably hated on some level, yet the two held an understanding, an anguish, a pain, a scar, a great gapping festering, pusstulate and profusely bleeding wound that they were convinced would eventually kill them…

That is a level of bond, however demented I have never seen in any other pair of beings, it was like 'love' while powerful cannot bond one and another the same that 'hate' could. 'caring' about one another gets in the way, so does 'regret' and 'selfishness' yet these two were merely resigned to whatever fate their warped solitude brought them…

And the demon in me awoke to that slaughter…

The demented followers praised a woman that cared nothing for them, never recognizing their prayers or existence, even when I threw two of them over the ledge and into that fester plague-filled pit of those demented baby-demon-spawn… the horrid things, and what was worse was what they may have represented if the blood coming… dripping… gushing forth from the saint's dress into the pool meant anything…

She had given over everything to the demon and this was what she had become, a plague mother, a festering lover, a listless and lifeless thing that cared for nothing… absolutely nothing…

I could feel it, the burning in my arm, the gripping of my shield, the pain, the festering blinding pain it always brought, feel the data slink up and down my arm as it crawled along my back and spine, suddenly releasing at two points in my back, causing my shoulder blades to explode forth, ruining the silent chief's armor as the two back appendages sprang forth to smash the faithful to bloody smithereens.

I remember screaming, the silent chief's armor feeling far too confining, and it burned, it burned like it never had before, probably because of the spells on the assassin's armor designed to negate any negativity to the body but having no idea how to handle something so putrid from within.

I screamed as my voice howled into a bestial fury, I could feel the fangs ripping through and out of my jaw, the wrapping forming itself out of my flesh and encasing my eyes, I felt the darkness encase me, yet still knew all that was happening around me, I felt the explosion of mass in my extremities, my legs buckling as new bones and joints were added, felt the pull as my spine extended into a pronged tail… felt as the fires of purgatory that this form was forged rip across my body, dissolving my skin and replacing it with that of the demon's, the monster, the thing I had become…

And it resonated… oh how it resonated…

With a howl of primal fury I felt the chains that pierced my flesh, the masochistic devices that served as a reminder of suffering in this form, the scars, the weight of the manacles at my wrists that brought me down and reminded me of the servitude to this form I served… 'justice', there was no other word that described this torment and suffering, this longing, this desire, this NEED to rend flesh that was unworthy…

And the saint turned towards me…

She looked at me, I don't know how, but I could feel her sight on me, something that had not occurred in this godforsaken place since the fog took over… the sixth saint responded, awoke from her dream long enough to SEE me…

And then she closed her eyes…

And I tore her knight apart…

And when she opened them, she was looking at the bloody, surrendering, hulking, bleeding, festering, horrid, monster that was unaffected by her pool of plague and longing… a monster that couldn't see the truths she had… a monster that had the flesh of her once-lover in its maw…

Before she could so much as utter a word I was upon her…

Her flesh devoured, her soul consumed, her essence and very being eradicated from existence…

She had met her end, and her god all in one fell swoop…

And I was terrified…

Terrified for a moment, wondering, cursing, staring at the bloody pool… the sacred remains of a woman I could understand on some strange level… and I had ate her… her blood trickled down my chin, over my neck, down my naked breasts and slithered into my core… her blood was on me and her flesh inside me, I could feel it, writhing, defiled, plague ridden and attempting to consume me as I did it…

I dry heaved but nothing came out… only a dribble of pinkish spit…

I think my heart stopped…

And I screamed…

What kind of monster had I become…

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><p><strong>AN:** Say something, i'm serious about this, if you read this, even if just out of curiosity by looking at my other stories and running by this, say something... i'm kinda wanting to be a writer and i'm curious about the different takes this character has let me take...

comments, questions, opposing views? (Review)

till next -salute-waves- Sayounara, Mina!

-Ikasury


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